


A World Without You

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10856247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: He had left the entry in Himuro’s phone on a whim, somewhat nostalgic for somewhere he’s never even been to until a few months ago: ‘I can’t help but compare. Your life seems so much more vibrant than mine.’He doesn’t expect such an honest reply.'I’ve spent so much of it wanting to be someone else, I never realized someone else would want to be in my place.’[Two boys—one from the city, another from the country—switch bodies for reasons neither of them realize just yet. An AU of Your Name.]





	A World Without You

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not gonna lie, this will probably only make sense if you've seen the movie. 
> 
> for spring.

##  _tatsuya_

 

**mirror**

It’s with annoyance that he regards his reflection, already far more mindful of his appearance than he would be on any other day. Who wouldn’t be, after reading a message like that?

‘I don’t think your hair is very practical for basketball.’

Kuroko wouldn’t cut it, would he? He’s not the type. He wouldn’t dare.

Either way, he leaves a hair clip on his desk, in plain sight, for the next time. Just in case.

 

**juxtaposition**

He’s been a city boy all his life, but he admits there’s a novelty in all the fresh greenery, the uninterrupted sky. Out here, there aren’t enough lights to overshadow the constellations, not enough noise vying for attention among his thoughts.

He can be alone, in a way he can’t be as himself: just him with an often empty court, him with the sound of rubber on cement, him with the crickets and the stars and no other people around to put him on a pedestal.

 

**pride**

“You sure are fired up right now, Tetsu,” says Aomine, and Himuro pauses, noticeably, before he responds. It’s partly to think of the right way he should—apparently, it takes far more than that to warrant one of Kuroko’s smiles, nor is he the type to take offense—and partly because long pauses, apparently, are part of Kuroko’s character anyway.

“I’m no different from yesterday,” says Himuro, passing the ball back. Carefully, he adds, “Aomine-kun.”

Aomine catches it and grins, seemingly satisfied with the exchange. The truth is something Himuro keeps to himself: he can’t bear to play without giving it his all, and he’s lucky enough to switch bodies with someone who feels the same.

 

**wire**

The tension between him and Taiga had been taut for a few years now, every conversation and interaction akin to walking a tightrope, which is why it’s jarring when Taiga calls out, “Tatsuya!” so freely one day, without the pain and restraint that used to be so audible in his tone.

He leaves a note for Kuroko as soon as he’s able (“What did you do!?”) and receives an admonition in turn (“Talk to him, Himuro-san. Don’t undo my hard work.”)

 

**vanilla**

If you ever put another drop of milkshake into my body, he’s tempted to write under Kuroko’s baby blues, it might just keel over and die.

 

##  _tetsuya_

 

**bathtub**

It’s not within his nature to blush at any sort of provocation, but he thinks this moment should be an exception. He’s wet, undressed, and though it’s nothing he hasn’t already seen, his cheeks still warm when he dares to glance down.

 

**match**

As if having to play in official game isn’t enough, Himuro is also the team’s shooting guard, apparently lauded for his exceptional shots. The anxiety is nearly enough to desecrate Himuro’s cool, collected image by redecorating the floor with his lunch, but another emotion joins it when they enter the stadium.

The lights, the crowd, the court bigger than any he’d ever stepped on—the urge to throw up hasn’t left but now there’s also a buzzing in his veins, a racing to his pulse.

He’s excited.

More than that, he’s excited to win.

 

**sunflower**

There’s a few flowers in a vase on his desk, freshly-picked, when he next returns to himself. The question is becoming sort of a trend with them, but still he has to ask: ‘What did you do?’

‘You’re a lucky guy, Kuroko-kun. I’ve never received a bouquet during a confession before,’ is not his first clue that this Himuro guy is something of a charmer, but it does reinforce his other impression that Himuro, in essence, is kind of insufferable.

 

**envy**

He had left the entry in Himuro’s phone on a whim, somewhat nostalgic for somewhere he’s never even been to until a few months ago: ‘I can’t help but compare. Your life seems so much more vibrant than mine.’

He doesn’t expect such an honest reply.

'I’ve spent so much of it wanting to be someone else, I never realized someone else would want to be in my place.’

 

**smoke**

Just seeing the cigarettes irritates him, an emotion both rational and irrational. Rational, because Himuro is an athlete, and should know better.

Irrational, because Himuro’s putting his health at risk, which has nothing to do with sports and everything to do with how Kuroko, against his own volition, feels his own chest tighten at the thought of Himuro ever finding it hard to breathe.

 

##  _together_

 

**sunshower**

The last thought he ever has, with his face tilted to the sky, is that it’s beautiful right now; so beautiful, as if the star is descending just to learn his name, that he forgets to be afraid.

 

**windowsill**

The second to the last thought he ever has has to do with his second to the last day: the boy in the cafe window certainly has the face he’d been wearing, but if it really was Himuro, then why doesn’t he recognize the face he’d been wearing too?

Was Himuro pretending not to?

No, he thinks immediately. Himuro can be cruel, as Kuroko’s come to learn, but he wouldn’t be cruel in that way.

It was foolish hope that prompted that day trip to Tokyo, but Kuroko regrets neither his folly nor his hopefulness—only that the meeting didn’t go as he’d painted in his mind.

After all, it’s not as if he can ever meet Himuro again.

 

**voice**

“Kuroko-kun!” seems to be falling on deaf ears, even if Himuro feels him nearby, just barely out of his reach. Desperate, he tries, “Tetsuya!”

“Himuro-san,” comes from behind him, familiar but different at the same time—so that’s the monotone he’d been trying to replicate. “I don’t recall giving you permission to call me that.”

Himuro turns around, and smiles through his tears.

You’re alive, he wants to say.

I’ve been looking for you, he wants to say.

But, “then call me Tatsuya, so we’re even,” is what comes out instead.

 

**strawberry**

They said it’s an event that only happens once every two thousand years. They said Tiamat would streak across the clouds for a few days as it falls into step with Earth’s orbit. They said to watch as the sky is lit up something beautiful.

They never said it would split apart, or bleed red; they never said it would bring death and destruction with it.

The second part, the news will report later. Right now, Himuro tilts his face up to the sight and they were right: it is beautiful.

But they never said he would feel so afraid.

 

**key**

There’s nothing to suggest that their plan to evacuate wouldn’t fail and everything to suggest that it would; as highly as he thinks of Aomine and Momoi it soon becomes evident that not even their help would be enough.

There’s nothing about him that doesn’t burn when he cries—his eyes, his skin, his heart—forehead pressed to a nearby post as he tries to catch his breath between sobs and hiccups.

There’s something on his palm and vaguely, he’s aware of its importance. It was put there by the person who wanted to save him, the name of someone he doesn’t want to forget. He opens it to unlock the memory and smiles through his tears; ‘I love you’ is scribbled in messy penmanship, as if by someone who isn’t used to writing in kanji, in place of something to help him remember.

But there’s nothing else he needs to keep running again.

##  _apart_

 

**nicotine**

Smoking is an ugly habit he can’t seem to break, ever since he picked it up. It had been after the comet had landed, after the second chance they’d been given, after the smudged writing on his hand he couldn’t make out.

The taste is awful and the heat in his lungs makes his eyes water, but he keeps a pack in his pockets, lights up on nights he feels especially alone. It’s comforting in a way he can’t explain.

Somehow, the smell reminds him of home.

 

**razorburn**

He doesn’t know why looking at pictures of an old, vanished town feels so much like cutting too close to skin, just a hair’s width away from drawing blood. The logical solution would be to wipe it from his mind like it had been wiped from the map, but it’s that logic that he banishes instead.

If no one else will remember them, then he will; he’ll remember them no matter how raw his insides get, no matter how it’s as if his chest has been carved open and its contents scraped out.

 

**asphalt**

It’s a little past noon and the ground is as hot as he feels, his shirt plastered to his spine with sweat, so he sees it fit to treat himself to an iced coffee. He bypasses the vanilla milkshake on the menu—he can’t stomach the stuff anymore, despite having no aversion to it before—and orders his usual drink. He sits at his usual window table and goes about his usual routine.

Nothing about today is unusual up until the moment he lifts his eyes and they lock with a pair outside the cafe, blue as a summer sky but not quite as clear. They’re clouded over with an emotion Himuro can’t place, but. He wants to.

He wants to know the person they belong to.

 

**stain**

The man in the cafe is familiar in a way Kuroko can’t place, and he seems to feel the same way Kuroko does; he, too, seems to stop breathing when their stares meet.

The man in the cafe nearly abandons his phone as he stands, and completely abandons his drink as he heads for the exit, his eyes never leaving Kuroko’s as Kuroko half-runs to the entrance himself.

The man in the cafe wears a face that feels like it had been tattooed to his heart; the skin above had scabbed over and scarred, but the ink remained underneath.

 

**streetlight**

He’s made it outside the cafe, with Sky Blue across from him, and suddenly the whole endeavor seems incredibly stupid. What’s he even supposed to say?

They’re only strangers.

Sky Blue’s eyes falter as Himuro exhales, and prepares to walk past.

They’re only strangers.

He doesn’t quite have in him to inhale until he turns on his heel, suddenly afraid at the thought of simply watching that back walk away.

They’re only strangers, and yet…

“Hey, don’t I know you?”

Sky Blue’s already looking at him again, eyes softer than he’d ever seen them. “Yes, I think so too.”

Himuro would be content if the two of them were to stand there together until the streetlights come on, gazing at each other as the earth turns, but the day is young, the years have been long, and they have each other’s names to learn.


End file.
